Savage Rhythm (5 page)

He saw her.

She saw his chest heave and his nostrils flare, and then he was moving toward her, too fast for her to do anything but scramble to get up. Molly saw other women peel off him like shadows, unable to really focus on anything but him; he still wore whatever it was he had on stage that made him a genuine star. Magnetism. Charisma. Passion. Whatever it was, she could feel it. She could feel herself getting drunk off of it.

The whole room was drunk off of it. The whole room wanted him.

It’s NOT real
, she told herself again. She remembered Robbie pulling this kind of thing, trying on that rock star swagger, and seeing Declan now just made it all the more clear what a cheap imitation Robbie had been when he’d tried to front his own band. But Declan was the real deal, the womanizing, drinking, destructive force of nature that Robbie had only pretended to be, and look at how much damage
Robbie
had done to her. Declan would destroy her utterly. Terrible things happened when Molly lost control. She
wouldn’t
lose control now.

The whole room watched him stop in front of her. Stand over her. Loom over her.

He put out his hand.

“Come.”

Molly put her hand in his before she even thought about. Nodded, before she even thought about it. And then before her brain could catch up with her body—her body, her traitorous body, that had just reflexively done what he wanted, no questions asked—he was pulling her away, up the stairs, into more darkness.

What the fuck am I doing?

She could smell him. Oh God, she wanted to be covered in him. Her heart pounded so loud she was sure he could hear it, and she knew he felt the sweat on her hands and the heat coming off her body, and before she knew it he’d pulled her into a private room.

His dressing room.

Alarm bells went off in Molly’s head. All of them. Every single alarm bell she had, blaring. She wasn’t afraid of him, or what he might do; she was afraid of herself.

Jesus Christ, get it together. For Lydia.

There was a couch, a desk. Someone’s office. Molly moved to the other side of the couch, as far away from him as she could get.

“Why am I here?” she asked. Her voice was choked.

Declan stared at her. Not confused. Not thinking.

Wanting.

Finally, he said, “You’re supposed to write a book.”

A beat.

Then Molly laughed out loud, relief spilling over her as Declan gave her a big, wicked smile. She’d forgotten his reputation as a funny guy, the wild kind, the kind of guy who gets away with outrageous pranks because he’s famous.

“I forgot you were supposed to be funny,” she said, breathing hard.

Shit, she really felt drunk. What this man did to her hormones…

“That’s fair. I forgot you were supposed to be writing a book,” he said, and his look told her what he’d been thinking about instead. Just like that, she was whipped right back to the edge of self-control.

“Oh shit,” she murmured. “No, really, why am I here tonight?”

“You didn’t like the show?”

“I loved the show.”

“I know you did.”

He said it so simply. So knowingly. She blushed, hot and fast.

“It was a good show,” she said, maybe a touch defensively.

Declan grinned again. “Yeah, I owe you.”

Before she could ask what the hell
that
meant, he walked over to the desk and opened one of the drawers. Suddenly Molly was indescribably irritated with the man. She’d never been this turned on and confused and, frankly, intoxicated in her entire life, and all while she was trying to nail her first real writing job, and it was entirely his fault. And he was enjoying it.

And she would rather be irritated and angry than have to deal with the ache of wanting to feel him inside her. It would pass. Of course it would. It was just the fucking show.

“Why am I here?” she snapped.

He looked up. He was
amused
, damn him.

“So we can negotiate our terms,” he said.

“What?” Molly was dumbfounded. “I already signed a contract.”

“You signed a contract with Volare and with my holding company,” Declan said calmly. There had been a shift. He sat behind the desk, and something about his demeanor was…different.

Still larger than life. Still with that burning fire in him, but contained now, burning tighter and brighter, like a laser. Controlled.

It didn’t help. She wanted him just as badly, bare-chested and still slick with sweat. It might have even made it worse.

“You still need to sign a contract with me,” he said.

Molly shook herself out of her apparent trance. “What? What are you talking about? For what?”

“Right now, as a precaution. Later it might be something more. Then we’ll renegotiate.”

There was something about his level stare that was driving her nuts. The way he had all the information and wielded it, taking control of the conversation. The way she was completely lost, clinging to him for guidance. She knew it wasn’t an accident. It was a demonstration. And it was turning her on while he watched.

Fuck.

Fight it. Be a badass.

She met his eye and said, “So are you going to tell me what it is, or are we going to play twenty questions?”

Declan just smiled again. Nothing she said could get to him. Infuriating.

“Are you on birth control?” he asked.

“Of
course
I’m on birth control!” she sputtered, before she realized that she had
actually answered that question
. She’d freaking
answered him
, again, like he had a right to that information. Well, she wasn’t going to tell him the rest. She wasn’t going to tell him the reasons why she’d never even consider risking it again.

Molly opened her mouth to speak, then stopped, taken completely by surprise. This was a pattern now, Declan Donovan getting her to do things automatically. Telling her to do things, and her doing them.

“What about you?” she asked, feeling desperate to claw something back. She crossed her arms, as if that could help, and then closed her eyes briefly when she realized she’d just asked a man if he was on birth control.

Then Declan surprised her.

“Me, too,” he said, with that evil grin again. “Got ‘em snipped, ages ago.”

“So…nice to meet you, I guess?” she ventured. This was a weird conversation to be having. Not many men got vasectomies that young. “Is this how you get to know people?”

Declan laughed, a deep, musical sound that reminded her of what he’d been like on stage.
Don’t think about it.

“No, just you,” he said.

“I told you I’m not sleeping with you,” Molly said.

He ignored her, smiling, leaning back in his chair like some kind of lord of the manor. “This contract requires you to get tested before we go on tour, and gives you access to my test results. I pay for the rush test, of course.”

He was unbelievable. It was like she’d never said anything at all. Molly thought about what Adra had said: if she wanted to him to stop, if she asked him to stop, he would.

So why wasn’t she asking?

“Are you out of your mind?” she demanded. “Why on earth would you think that’s something you can
require
?”

Declan locked eyes with her and stood up, slowly, letting her get the full effect of his contracting abs and striated pecs as he lifted himself from the chair. His eyes burned and his lips were pressed into a tight, serious line, and oh holy fuck was it hot.

“Because we are going to have sex,” he said. He came around the desk and she was suddenly very aware of the fact there were no longer any physical barriers between them. That she could, if she wanted to, touch him. That she could let him touch her.

And he was walking toward her.

She told her legs to move, and they wouldn’t. Stupid legs. Stupid body, fixated on what it might feel like to just say, “Yes.”

Too late. He was inches away—inches. Molly felt her lips part, and the thudding, driving pulse in her core reached a fever pitch. Maybe she should just…

Declan took her hand and turned it up, palm facing him.

“Because,” he went on, tracing the lines in her palm, as though he were completely oblivious to the fact that she was practically hyperventilating, “You’re going to be spending a lot of time in the Clubs Volare, because that’s where I like to be. And you’re going to see things there that you like. You’re going to see things you want to try. And those tests will be
required
there, too.”

The geek part of her brain thought,
He used the proper plural of ‘Clubs Volare.’

The rest of her was a little slow on the uptake.

Then:
He’s saying you’re into BDSM. He’s saying you’re a submissive.

HE KNOWS.

Molly tried to yank her hand away, but Declan caught it. The look he gave her stripped her of all pretense. It had been four years since Molly had been naked with a man, and even then she’d always covered up, always had a sheet, a shirt nearby, something. Always some layer, something to protect herself with. She had never,
never
felt as naked as she did now.

“You don’t have to hide it from me,” Declan said. “I think it’s fucking beautiful.”

Molly swallowed. The only other man she’d told about her fantasies had thought she was a slut. She didn’t want Declan’s words to make her feel so good, but they did. They really, really did.

“This doesn’t change anything,” she said.

Declan narrowed his eyes but said nothing. Then his grip on her wrist tightened and he dragged her over to the desk. There was a contract, a blank line where her signature would go, and his.

“Sign it,” he ordered.

Molly stared at it, already knowing that she would. That she would do what he commanded, again. That she
wanted
to. As she shakily began to scrawl her name, she told herself that she would do this, she would give in on this one thing, and that holding out on the rest, on her actual body, would drive him insane. That this really gave her the upper hand.

She stopped halfway.
Be a badass.

“On one condition,” she said, not trusting herself to look at him.

A low, rough sound died in Declan’s throat.
Now
she looked at him.

“Did you just growl?”

“What condition?” he barked.

Molly straightened up and cocked her head to the side, feeling good, feeling…she didn’t know what. Feeling like she liked this side of Declan. Like she somehow knew how to
be
, like this, knew what was coming, knew he’d do something to wrest power back—and she wanted him to. It made sense to her. The first time a man had ever made sense to her, even if it was in this twisted, crazy, nonsense way.

There was no fighting it. She could keep herself from falling into bed with him—maybe—but she couldn’t stop…this.

So she’d have to use it instead.

“
What condition
?” he said again.

“Total honesty,” Molly said. His eyes burned into hers and she forced herself not to flinch, and when she held that gaze, she started to feel warm. “If I’m going to do this, you will give me total honesty. No lies.”

A woman who wasn’t used to catching the signs might have missed it, but Molly saw him react. A moment when the expression flitted across his face; she’d caught him.

He said, “What makes you think I’m lying?”

“Did you
ever
have a drinking problem?” she asked point blank.

And Declan Donovan was speechless, possibly for the first time ever. It was Molly’s turn to smile.

“I know drunks,” she said. “You don’t act like a drunk, and drunks are always drunks, even when they’re sober. And you’re a Dom. You’re in control, all of the time. You are not a drunk.”

He stared at her, and a smile played at the corners of his mouth. Finally, he said, “No, I never had a drinking problem. Agreed. No lies.”

Molly bent back over the contract so he wouldn’t see her face, which she was pretty sure could have lit up an entire room. Too late she realized what position that put her in, bent over in cutoffs, right next to him. And then she felt it: his fingertips, dancing on the back of her naked thigh, just teasing, defining the burning boundary where his touch stopped, the boundary she suddenly, desperately wanted him to cross.

She didn’t say anything. Didn’t move. If she moved, he might stop. If she moved, she’d have to make a
decision
to tell him whether to stop. The only sound was her panting.

His fingers slid up her leg to the edge of her cutoffs, just inside.

Her breath hitched, and she looked down. Her signature ran off the page. She stood up, breathing even harder.

“You are awfully forward,” she said.

He grinned, wiggling his fingers in the air. “And you love it.”

She blushed. “Well, you’ve got your signature. Which means I get my interviews.”

“I’m not used to having women tell me what to do,” Declan said.

Molly thought of Adra and a laughed a little.

“Yes, you are,” she said, trying to ignore his hand on her hip again. “Just not with women you
think
you’re going to fuck.”

It was Declan’s turn to laugh. “I’m really a fun guy, you know.”

“I’ve heard rumors about your shenanigans. Apparently it wasn’t all the booze, either.”

“You want shenanigans? I’ll give you shenanigans. I’m gonna have fun with you, Molly Ward,” he said, drawing her close. He leaned in, gently, slowly, trying not to startle her…and then he kissed her on the cheek. He whispered, “You’re not immune to me.”

And he left her like that, breathless. It wasn’t until he was at the door that she could speak.

“Don’t think you’re immune, either,” she called after him.

He laughed.

chapter
6

Declan was grinning like an idiot as he pulled into the Club Volare compound in Venice Beach. He’d practically lived at this place for the last six months, plenty of time to pack in the memories, yet now when he pulled up he thought about Molly Ward—specifically, Molly Ward kicking his ass, and just asking to have hers spanked in return.